A Time of Tigers - From Peasant to Emperor

"He should have sent me East," Talon said. "Blackwell could have done with the aid. We could have finally pushed them back."

"You know he does not value the Eastern conflict. It wins the crown very little coin," Gadar replied.

"True enough…" Talons said, going silent for a time. "How is the morale amongst the Macalister men?"

"They are impatient, my Lord. There are more than a few rumours going around about the Masked Bastard. Some even claim that you might be an imposter," Gadar said.

"An imposter? That's nonsense!" Talon said, with mock drama. The two shared a wry smile. "Well, I suppose, it is about time I secure them under my command for good. We'll give them something to bite on."

"Are you giving the order then?" Gadar asked. "Who will you send?"

It was Rivera who'd been given the honour of burning the barricades last time. Gadar itched for something to do. Unlike his General, the three attendants that Talon had brought with him neglected to wear a mask. The High King, after all, had only ordered that Talon stay hidden, and unknown. He hadn't said the same of his men.

It was one of Talon's many subtle little hits back at the High King, but so far, it seemed as if the Macalister men did not recognize a single one of three. That wasn't especially surprising.

"Rivera again, I do think," Talon said. "It's important to be consistent. Give the order now, so that it may be done in the light of day. Bring the men to the wall to witness it, if you would."

"As you will, my Lord," Gadar said, not letting a single lick of his disappointment shine through.

…

…

Oliver reduced the amount that his men would battle for the rest of that day and he planned to keep it low in the days that followed. He was pleased enough with their progress that he didn't think further battling would gain them all that much.

The men were beginning to understand each other's strengths and weaknesses, and the slaves were consistently able to perform at a high enough level to be useful.

He made sure that he didn't grow content with such meagre progress though. Already, a good few days had passed after all. Right now, they ought to have been sitting down doing classes in the Academy, but there seemed to be little chance of that any time soon.

His men did their best not to show their anxiety as one day followed the next, but no doubt they were beginning to feel it. Extended days in the field, dealing with the pressure of impending violence was a difficult thing for any man to deal with, and his retainers didn't share the experience of soldiers.

Oliver knew that somehow, he needed to go further than he had, and secure some sort of meaningful advantage against the General. Something that he could build on. He'd managed his score against the cavalry, but there seemed to be no way forward after that.

Of course, he'd set up his barricades, so they could actually make it to the walls now, but a straight-on fort-storm would be ill-favoured when they had so few men. Sieges, Volguard said, should always be conducted with at least two times the men of the defenders. Lacking such men, Oliver had to play carefully.

As if to answer his questions, a shout from the men brought his attention snapping back towards the Macalister Fort. He'd been watching it from his post for a good few hours now, but it was only with barely an hour of daylight left to spare that there was some sign of activity.

As he watched, the giant gates creaked open, and the same handsome, an almost womanly man that he had seen earlier made his appearance. They'd thrown oil jars on the barricades before, and from the jars that those thirty-something men carried, they seemed to be about to do the exact same this time.

"Hm? What's that?" Nila said from his side. She'd heard the commotion, and she'd come wandering over like a curious cat.

"The same as earlier. This is the little game we seem to be playing now, I suppose," Oliver said.

"A very silly little game indeed," Nila agreed. "Do they not see the mountain of wooden shields that we've built up? They might run out of oil, but it seems unlikely that we'll ever run out of wood."

"It seems to me that they're likely aiming for something else," Oliver guessed. "Even if it achieves little, to see the enemy fortifications burn must bring some amount of satisfaction."

"If you're right, then they're easily pleased, I expect," Nila said. "Besides, you've moved the guardsmen forward, haven't you? Those barricades are well in their range. I wouldn't be surprised if they miss out on their task entirely."

"True enough," Oliver said. He'd figured that they would not come at all since his moving of the guardsmen. He knew that they would be able to see the guarding soldiers from their posts on the wall. It seemed a futile effort.

As they watched, the long-haired officer and his men walked casually into range, their oil jars sitting in their hands almost provocatively. They clearly wanted the soldiers to watch what they were doing, and given that Oliver's men were on break, that was exactly what they were doing.

A steady stream of them were gathering at the edge of the clearing, looking down from their hill and through the trees. More seemed to be coming, unable to resist the commotion.

"Ah, action, my Lord?" Verdant said, joining them.

"Indeed," Oliver replied. "Or perhaps a lack of it."

The Macalister men were just about to come to a stop. The womanly man with his long black hair gave them a quiet whisper of an order. He stood still, ever so calmly, right on the edge of the archer's range.

"If he would walk forward by just a single hand, they'd get him…" Nila said, her voice tense with expectation."